Chapter 17
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
freddie
The address leads me to a warehouse district on the outskirts of Dublin, the kind of place where screams don't carry and bodies disappear without questions.
Perfect place for what Trace has planned.
I park three blocks away and check my weapons one final time. Two pistols, extra magazines, a knife in my boot, another in my jacket. Not nearly enough for what I'm walking into, but it'll have to do.
My phone buzzes with incoming text messages.
Maverick: In position. Two blocks north.
Stephen: South side covered.
Emmanuel: Ready. East approach secure.
Good. They're close enough to help when things go sideways but far enough away that Trace won't spot them immediately. The plan's simple: I go in alone, locate Alastríona, and get her clear of the immediate threat. Then my brothers come in and we paint the walls with Trace's blood.
Another text, this one from Jason.
Jason: Car ready. Hospital route memorized. Won't let you down.
Jason's one of the Houlihan men. He’s the best wheelman in Dublin and loyal as they come. If anyone can get Alastríona to safety once I free her, it's him.
Denis: In position. Makenna has over watch from the water tower. Danny and Malcolm ready to move on your signal. Henry says bring her home.
I will. Whatever it takes, however many bodies I have to drop, I'm bringing her home.
The warehouse is exactly what I expected, three stories of rust and broken windows; the kind of place that's been abandoned so long the city's forgotten it exists. Perfect for torture, murder, all the pleasant activities Trace specializes in.
No guards visible from the outside, but that doesn't mean anything. Professionals hide where you can't see them.
I approach from the blind side, using a loading dock door that's been left pried open for years. Inside, the warehouse is a maze of abandoned machinery and shipping containers. Plenty of places to hide, plenty of ways to die.
My footsteps echo despite my best efforts. Old concrete and metal don't care how quiet you try to be.
"Freddie Kinnock."
The voice comes from everywhere and nowhere, echoing off the walls. There must be speakers hidden throughout the building.
"Welcome to my little party. I trust you came alone, as requested?"
I don't answer. Let him wonder.
"No matter. You're here now, which means you care enough about the girl to walk into an obvious trap. How romantic."
Keep talking, you bastard. Every word helps me triangulate your position.
"She's quite beautiful, your little Belfast princess. Even with the bruises Tony gave her. Spirited, too; fought like a wildcat when we collected her."
My hands clench into fists. The thought of them hurting her, touching her, makes something dark and violent unfurl in my chest.
"But don't worry, we've barely started. The real fun begins when you watch me break her piece by piece."
I'm moving deeper into the warehouse now, following the sound of his voice. Upper level, southeast corner. That's where the speakers are loudest.
"You know, she asked about you. She wondered if you'd really come for her or if you'd be smart enough to cut your losses. I told her the truth: that men like you always choose the woman over common sense."
A staircase comes into view, metal steps leading to a catwalk system that runs the length of the building. That's where he is. Has to be.
"Of course, I also told her about Ava. About how your great love affair was nothing but an elaborate con. Poor girl looked heartbroken when she learned the truth."
He's trying to get under my skin, make me careless. Amateur psychology from a man who thinks everyone's as twisted as he is.
I start up the stairs, each step deliberate and controlled. Whatever's waiting for me up there, I need to be ready.
"Did you really think Ava loved you? That all those nights together meant something?"
The catwalk stretches ahead of me, doors leading to offices that overlook the warehouse floor. One of them has light spilling from underneath.
"She was mine from the beginning, Freddie. Every kiss, every touch, every moment you thought was real, it was all a performance. She was gathering intelligence, nothing more."
Maybe. Probably. Doesn't matter anymore. Ava's dead, and whatever she was to me died with her. What matters now is the woman tied up in that room, the woman I actually love.
"But don't feel bad. You weren't the only one she fooled. Half of Dublin thought she gave a damn about them."
I'm at the door now. I can hear voices inside, movement, the sound of someone crying softly.
Alastríona.
I test the handle. Unlocked. Of course it is. Trace wants me to come in, wants this confrontation.
I count to three, then kick the door open hard enough to splinter the frame.
Six men inside, just like I expected. Five with guns, one with a knife held to Alastríona's throat.
She's tied to a chair in the center of the room, blood on her face, left arm hanging at an unnatural angle. Broken. They broke her arm.
But she's alive. Conscious. Looking at me with relief and terror in equal measure.
"Freddie," she breathes.
The man with the knife—Trace, it has to be—smiles. "Right on time. I was beginning to think you'd chickened out."
"Let her go."
"Eventually. First, we're going to have a conversation about respect. About consequences. About what happens when you take something that belongs to me."
"Ava never belonged to you." Hell, she never belonged to anyone. She did whatever the fuck she wanted, consequences be damned.
"Didn't she? We were married, Freddie. Husband and wife, till death do us part. I'd say that gives me certain claims."
"You killed her."
"I reclaimed her. There's a difference."
The knife presses closer to Alastríona's throat. A thin line of blood appears on her skin.
"But we're not here to discuss my late wife. We're here to settle accounts. You cost me something precious, so I'm going to cost you something precious in return."
"I'll give you one chance," I say quietly. "Take that knife away from her throat and face me like a man."
Trace laughs. "Or what? You'll shoot me? While I'm holding your girlfriend hostage?"
"No. I'll kill your men and then take that knife away from you personally."
"Five guns against one, Freddie. Even you aren't that good."
I smile. It's not a nice smile. "Want to bet?"
The first man makes the mistake of shifting his weight, telegraphing his intent to shoot. I put two bullets in his chest before he can clear leather.
The second one's faster, gets his gun up and aimed. But he's standing too close to his partner, bunched up like they’ve never done this before. One knife throw takes them both down, the blade passing through the first man's throat and into the second man's chest.
Three down. Three to go.
The remaining gunmen are spreading out now, trying to get angles on me while staying clear of their boss. It’s the professional response, but they're thinking like soldiers instead of street fighters.
Street fighters use everything as a weapon.
I grab the dead man's chair and hurl it at the nearest gunman. He ducks, but it buys me the second I need to close distance. My hands find his throat and twist hard. His neck snaps like a dry branch.
Four down.
The next one's smarter, he keeps his distance, firing three quick shots that miss by inches. He's forgotten about the windows, forgotten that glass breaks easily when a human body hits it hard enough.
I tackle him through the office window that looks down over the warehouse. We smash through the glass and fall eight feet to the concrete below. I land on top of him and stay on top. He doesn’t get up.
From the broken frame above, the last gunman freezes in the doorway, he’d been covering the office entrance, waiting for me to run. He thinks he still has the advantage.
I don’t give him time to find out. I push off the body, sprint for the stack of crates and the steel ladder bolted to the warehouse wall, scramble back up through the ragged window and into the room.
He raises his hands. "I surrender—"
The bullet takes him between the eyes. I don't have time for prisoners, and mercy is a luxury I can't afford when Alastríona's bleeding.
Six down.
But Trace is gone.
The chair where Alastríona was tied is empty, rope cut clean through. There’s blood on the floor, drops leading toward a door I didn't notice before.
"Freddie!" Her voice is distant but strong. He's got her, but she's still fighting.
I follow the blood trail through the door, down a back staircase that leads to the loading docks. An emergency exit—probably planned from the beginning. Trace is smart enough to have an escape route ready.
They're fifty yards away when I reach the dock. Trace is dragging Alastríona toward a waiting car, the knife still pressed to her throat. She's trying to slow him down, make herself deadweight, but he's stronger.
"Let her go!" I shout.
"Come any closer and I'll open her throat!"
But he's moving wrong, he’s off-balance, focused on the car instead of the threat behind him. Amateur mistake from a man who's used to having other people do his killing.
I line up the shot, finger on the trigger, when everything goes to hell.
Alastríona suddenly twists, breaking free of his grip for just a moment. Enough time for me to see the knife flash, see her stagger, see blood bloom across her shirt.
He stabbed her. The bastard actually stabbed her.
Red floods my vision. All tactical thinking disappears, replaced by pure rage.
I'm running before I realize I'm moving, closing the distance with murder in mind. But Trace is already diving into the car, engine roaring to life.
The car peels out, tires smoking, heading for the street. I get three shots through the rear window but can't tell if I hit anything.
Alastríona's on the ground, hands pressed to her side, blood seeping between her fingers.
"I'm here," I say, dropping beside her. "I'm here. You're safe."
"Freddie." Her voice is weak already. Too much blood loss, too much trauma. "He got away."
"Doesn't matter. The only thing that matters is getting you to a hospital."
I check the wound. Knife went in below her ribs, angled upward. It could have hit organs. She could be bleeding internally. No way to know without proper medical attention.
My phone's already in my hand, calling for backup.
"Maverick, I need you now. Target's mobile, heading west on Industrial Road. Black sedan, partial plate Tango-Four-Seven."
"Copy. We're in pursuit.”
“I’ll need Jason at the docks with the car. Medical emergency."
"On it."
Maverick isn’t finished. "I’ll get Denis to coordinate with the others.
I want Trace found and brought to me alive.
But the first priority is medical evac for Alastríona.
" He ends the call and I know that he’s got this taken care of.
It’s why Jer wanted him to take over. He’s the perfect man for the job.
I can finally breathe again when Jason's car screeches to a halt beside us within minutes. He's already got the back door open, medical kit ready.
"Hospital?" he asks as I lift Alastríona as gently as possible.
"Fastest route. And Jason?"
"Yeah?"
"If she dies because we hit traffic, I'll hold you personally responsible."
"She won't die. Not on my watch."
The drive to the hospital feels like it’s taking forever. But I see the speedometer rising as Jason weaves through Dublin traffic like he's driving in a video game, while I try to keep pressure on Alastríona's wound and monitor her vitals.
She's conscious but fading, skin pale and clammy. Classic signs of shock.
"Stay with me," I murmur, holding her hand with my free one. "Don't you dare leave me now."
"Not going anywhere," she whispers. "Too stubborn to die."
"Damn right you are."
But her eyes are starting to drift closed, her grip on my hand weakening. The blood's soaking through everything I use to stanch it.
"Faster, Jason."
"Already doing ninety through the city center. Any faster and we'll kill someone."
"Any slower and she'll bleed out."
"We're almost there. Two more minutes."
Two minutes feels like two hours. But Jason's as good as his word; we screech to a halt outside Dublin's main hospital with time to spare.
The medical team's already waiting, alerted by our phone call. They have Alastríona on a gurney and through the doors before I can blink.
"Sorry, sir," a nurse says when I try to follow. "Family only beyond this point."
"I am family."
"Are you her husband?"
"I'm the man who'll burn this hospital down if you don't let me through."
Something in my voice must convince her, because she steps aside without another word.
They wheel Alastríona into surgery while I pace the waiting room like a caged animal. Every minute that passes is another minute she could be slipping away from me.
Danny and Makenna arrive an hour later, both looking grim.
"Any word?" Makenna asks.
"Nothing yet. She's been in surgery for forty minutes."
"She's strong," Danny says. "Strongest woman I know after Melissa. She'll pull through."
"And Trace?"
"Gone. Disappeared like smoke. But we'll find him."
"Not we. Me. When I find that bastard, I'm going to take him apart piece by piece."
"Freddie—"
"He stabbed her, Danny. He looked me in the eye and put a knife in the woman I love. There's no coming back from that."
"I know. And when we find him, you'll have first crack at him. But right now, focus on her. She needs you here, not out hunting ghosts."
He's right, of course. Revenge can wait. Alastríona comes first.
Always.
A doctor emerges from the surgical wing, still in scrubs. "Mr. Kinnock?"
"That's me."
"She's stable. The knife missed major organs, but she lost a lot of blood. We repaired the damage and gave her a transfusion. She should make a full recovery. Her arm is broken in two places but we’re hoping they’ll heal without needing surgery, but we’ll do another x-ray in around six weeks."
Relief floods through me like a physical thing. "Can I see her?"
"She's in recovery now. Give us another hour to get her settled, then you can visit briefly."
"Thank you."
When the doctor leaves, Makenna puts a hand on my shoulder. "See? I told you she was strong."
"Yeah. She is."
But strong or not, this never should have happened. I should have been there to protect her, should have seen the attack coming, should have killed Trace when I had the chance.
Next time, I won't hesitate.
Next time, I'll put him in the ground where he belongs.
For now, though, I wait. Wait for her to wake up, wait for her to smile at me, wait for confirmation that I haven't lost the best thing that's ever happened to me.
I wait, and I plan exactly how Trace Harrington is going to die.